With a whoosh, we're transported to the night shift. It's 8:39 PM, according to the Graphic of Oh Shit, Do You Think We'll Blow Our Graphics Budget Before The Commercial? Flames pour out of Doc Magoo's, while the County staff watches with a glee that doesn't jibe with their previous reliance on the place, much less their grief at the owner's demise. Pratt might as well be doing a jig. "Whoa, somebody overcooked their burger," he jokes idiotically. "That's a first," Jerry giggles. Shut up. The place has been boarded up. Why is it on fire? Susan wonders if it's an electrical problem, which makes sense. Chuny offers up the pointless detail that she's been brown-bagging it since Magoo's closed. Thanks, Chuny. That matters a lot to absolutely nobody. Pratt whines to Susan that he wants her to declare this an internal disaster so that they can be sent home for the night. She chuckles that she wouldn't dream of depriving him of his last shift. Since when can the hospital just close and send everyone home? Do they chuck the patients?

The peanut gallery, grinning incomprehensibly, continues to roast itself by the light of the burning Magoo's. Abby storms out in a foul mood, ignores Susan, and yells at a smoking patient who has a bleeding ulcer. He won't put out his cigarette. "Fine, smoke the whole pack. I'll be inside. Come and find me when you start vomiting blood," she crabs, stomping back into the hospital. "Hey, Abby, Magoo's is on fire," Susan sing-songs annoyingly. "Yeah, I can see that," Abby snaps. What the hell is with these people? Why is Susan twelve? Is Chuck the key to liking her? I have lived my life never having to depend on Donal Logue for anything, and now here I am, mentally begging him to come back. Who would've thought.

Something explodes inside Magoo's, shattering glass and increasing the intensity of the blaze. "Now can we go home?" Pratt asks, hopefully. Piss off, spitbag. Don't demean your greasy spoon this way.